


Flightless Birds

by emptyswimmingpools



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bad Parenting, Bisexuality, Demisexuality, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, Pete/Ryan Brotp, References to Drugs, Rewrite, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Some Humor, more tags to be added later probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-06-06 22:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6772951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyswimmingpools/pseuds/emptyswimmingpools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey Way is sort of trapped in a situation regarding his career path, and just wants his brother to be happy. Pete Wentz is freewheeling his way through life, keeping (the vast majority of) his teenage angst concealed. The two are different, but a pact might just bring them together.</p><p>With the pressure increasing quickly, the previously almost-perfected art of keeping it together is harder than ever, and paired with one or two identity problems, the only thing seemingly on their side is the shards of hope they have left to hold onto and the knowledge that they’ll be there with each other the whole way.</p><p>Or: the one where there’s a deal made, some tears shed, questionably more-than-platonic feelings and a lot of character growth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rescue (Mikey)

**Author's Note:**

> [original story](https://www.wattpad.com/story/49366840-learning-to-fly-%E2%9E%B5-petekey) / [my tumblr](https://albertorosedne.tumblr.com) / [title song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHXfuGXM1Gg)

Mikey has hated school for as long as he can remember.

It's sort of ironic, really, as he's been labelled as a “nerd” — and every other synonymous word under the sun — by pretty much everyone. This includes his brother, Gerard, though when he says it his tone is lighthearted and filled with good intentions; his words are meant in a loving way, alike is Mikey’s usual response of an eye-roll and muttered profanities.

He despises more than anything the way the lessons seem to drone on. Mikey enjoys learning new things, mind you, but the way the lessons are actually carried out is another story entirely — badly, briefly explained topics are insufferable and make the day seem more monotonous than Mikey thought to be humanly possible. He ought to just complain to the headteacher to see if he could be moved into another class that actually had a sufficient teacher, but alas, the headteacher was equally useless — perhaps even more so.

Mikey had never met anyone more pathetic at running even simple, small meetings — let alone an entire school of rabid, hormonal teenagers — before Mr. Bryar started taking authority over this shit-tip of a high school. The man is intimidating and often gives everyone the cold shoulder when he's having a bad day, which, spoiler, is pretty much _every_ day, much to the displeasure of the entire student body. (Plus most teachers, though they’d never admit it.)

He’s also quite possibly the least organised person to ever exist, rarely ever sends important letters and notices home to parents, and is what Mikey likes to refer to as a “fun sponge” — he successfully manages to suck every last chunk of enjoyment out of every activity he somehow manages to get himself involved in. He truly is a walking disaster — thinking about it, Mikey feels sort of bad for him in that sense, but takes it back after recalling just how much of an utter bitch he actually is.

Aside from bad teachers, there’s also the issue regarding early mornings. Mikey has a bad habit of frequently staying up until the early hours of the morning, only to bitterly regret it the next day. He practically lives on caffeinated beverages and sugary breakfast foods, desperately consuming them in the morning before school so he doesn’t quite feel like a walking zombie. It works to some extent, though it’s definitely not the healthiest of lifestyles.

But the number one reason, dominating the chart by a mile, is the pressure.

The pressure to climb as high as you can possibly muster up the social ladder, taking your popularity in your stride as people begin to fall for the illusion that yes, you’re cool, you’re desirable and liked. It’s the way the kids he knows viciously attempt to categorise each friendship group by their interests and their grades and how they look and dress — it seems unfair, to force such prejudice things upon undeserving students.

It’s also the pressure set by none other than the school themselves: be the best or get shunned, overwork yourself in order to achieve the grades you need, stress yourself out if it means getting in extra revision. Well, they don’t directly tell Mikey that, but it’s heavily implied within the patronisingly fake smiles and the sly tones of voices the teachers use to tell you to “do your best”. (Mikey is _not_ a violent person, but he’s more than a little bit tempted to punch anyone who says that kind of thing like it holds no hidden meaning. Seriously, do they really expect complete obliviousness? Is there _that_ much doubt?)

It’s not particularly helpful for him that he’s an extreme people-pleaser, always looking to selflessly fulfil everyone else’s desires before his own, never really caring about his own needs. He loves his family more than anything, but sometimes the pressure his parents put on him is _suffocating_. It feels like their expectations have manifested themselves into a human form, which grips tightly at his neck, strangling him; it’s beating him up inside, taunting him into following the career path his parents have personally set for him.

He feels ungrateful, however; how dare he complain about doing what he should be doing in the name of honour, or something like that, when he has a loving family, a home, edible food, et cetera?

“Oi!” a voice shouts from down the corridor, snapping Mikey out of his inner thoughts. At first, Mikey assumes he’s just calling one of his friends, but he’s proven wrong by his second word. “Nerd!” Mikey groans internally, then externally.

He turns, his eyes raking over the body of the person whose voice the shouts belong to, recognising him immediately. Gabe. Gabe is … well … _something_ . He’s pretty much the epitome of the phrase “fuckboy” and is certainly someone who Mikey finds great pleasure in avoiding. With him, ignorance really _is_ bliss. Luck never seems to be on his side, though, as the two always seem to be bumping into each other.

Mikey doesn’t even know why Gabe seems to hate him so much. It’s not like they have some sort of tragic backstory where Mikey betrayed their friendship once back in their younger days, or something — Gabe just hates him, and Mikey hates Gabe, and that’s that. Nobody argues against it.

Mikey tries his best not to roll his eyes, but he’s at least ninety percent sure he’s failed. “Yes, Gabriel?” he responds. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you on this fine, Tuesday morning?” He laces his voice in so much sarcasm it feels too much, but ignores it as he attempts not to crack under pressure in the situation Gabe’s put him in. He used his full name out of complete spite — Mikey’s fully aware that Gabe isn’t that fond of it, and wants to irk him as much as he possibly can. Good system, huh?

“I thought it was Wednesday …” one of his friends — Brendon, he thinks, though he may be wrong — inputs lamely, raising an eyebrow confusedly.

“Oh, shut up,” Gabe hisses under his breath, at the same time Mikey says, “No, you’re wrong, it’s definitely Tuesday.” Brandon, or whatever his name is, moves back at that.

“Don’t you dare,” Gabe starts, waggling a finger in front of his face, “talk over me. And don’t call me that!” he exclaims, his face reddening ever so slightly.

Mikey smirks, “Free country, Gabriel. You’ll be _pleased_ to know that I can say what I like.”

And the winner of the annual ‘Most Petty Person to Ever Exist on the Surface Of This Earth’ award goes to … Mikey!

Gabe’s facial expression transforms from slightly pissed off to majorly pissed off in the span of about a fifth of a second, which is a wakeup call to Mikey, making him realise what he’s actually done; he’s so, so fucked. Gabe is going to destroy him and his puny ass.

“Think again, fucker.” His words are spat like venom, his voice cold and harsh. It sends shivers down Mikey’s spine, and he gulps briefly, anticipating a punch or slap of some sort.

Apparently Mikey is some sort of damsel in distress, as an _actual_ knight in shining armour steps into the conversation. “Hey, leave him alone,” the guy says. Gabe’s lips press together in a thin line, expressing severe distaste, as he glares at the enigmatic boy.

“Do you really expect me to listen to a five foot four—”

“Dude, I’m literally five eight,” he buts in, as if his height was of any significance. And Mikey’s no expert in guessing someone’s height just from looking at the person, but even he knows that five foot eight is a big reach for a guy like this.

“Five foot four guy with an outdated emo haircut and a knight costume on?” Gabe finishes, ignoring his input.

“That was the plan,” he quips. Mikey wants to facepalm, but he stifles himself. Aren’t knights supposed to do a much better job at, you know, saving people?

“Well, you were wrong,” Gabe clarifies, as if it isn't obvious at this point already.

“Thank you, Captain fucking Obvious,” Mikey jumps in. “Can we end this now? I have a class to get to.”

Knight blushes, “Sorry, yes. I call truce.”

Gabe walks off without another word, dragging Breadbin with him, much to his reluctance. Mikey sighs heavily, leaning against a locker for support. He checks the time, decides it’s far too late to show up at this time anyway, then proceeds to sit on the floor. He feels anxious sitting here, doing nothing of any importance in the long run; he should be _learning_ , educating himself so he can provide for his future kids and wife — or husband, Mikey isn’t picky — rather than taking an unnecessary break.

“Thought you were going to class?”

“I should be, but it’s a bit late for that now. My parents are gonna kill me, but at least I have a somewhat valid excuse.” The mere thought of turning up at home to find his parents with stern looks on their faces is enough to send chills down Mikey’s spine and make his stomach churn. He cringes, perhaps visibly, though that’s not his intention.

“Fair enough,” he replies. “I’m Pete, by the way.”

“Mikey. Nice to meet you, my knight in shining armour.”

“To be honest, this costume isn’t even shiny. It’s rusty as fuck,” Pete notes. Mikey eyes it, nodding.

“Why are you even wearing it in the first place?”

“Long story, but it involves my best friend Ryan, a trip down memory lane and a game of truth or dare,” Pete explains.

Mikey doesn’t push Pete to elaborate any further, laughing at the story regardless. He’s not sure who this Ryan guy is — not that he particularly knows Pete either — but he’s almost entirely sure that they have a life that's at least three hundred percent more entertaining than his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> largely unedited. feedback is appreciated. slow updates, mostly.


	2. Anomaly (Pete)

Ryan laughs softly next to him, all giggles and smiles, hair plastered over his pale forehead. “I remember that,” Ryan says, as nostalgia burns through Pete’s veins, remembering the moment so vividly it may as well have happened yesterday.  
  
Pete sighs, takes a drag of his cigarette. “Feels like it wasn't even that long ago,” he replies.   
  
Ryan's words are spoken in a hushed tone, “I miss it. Us, I mean. We were so close when we were kids, and now …” he trails off.   
  
Pete cringes, his heart stuttering in his chest. He really doesn’t want to talk about this, not now, not ever. Even if this is Ryan — his best friend, more like his brother, who he knows perfectly well he can talk to about anything and everything, regardless of how close they are at the time. Sure, they sometimes have tendencies to break off and keep their distance for short whiles, but at the end of the day, they’re closer than close.   
  
But maybe Pete doesn’t want to keep up these tendencies anymore. Life is so, significantly easier when he knows that Ryan’s there, his right-hand man by his side, urging him on when times get tough. Ryan knows Pete like the back of his hand and can read what he’s thinking like a book on display for all to see. He knows just the right advice to offer, he knows when he needs a heart-to-heart, he knows when Pete’s acting tough throughout a bad day, despite insisting he’s all right.   
  
Pete’s stubborn, but perhaps Ryan is an anomaly.   
  
Pete grew up with Ryan. He was the lonely kid who sat at the back of the class sulking, but that changed when dear old Ryan came along — being the new kid, he was relatively anxious and reluctant to befriend the louder kids. Naturally, he came and took the seat next to Pete, offering him half a packet of Smarties and a toothy grin. Pete couldn’t resist taking the younger boy under his wing, and they were inseparable.   
  
Pete’s chest aches in a way that’s kind of dull, but it’s still there, still repressing the muscle. It’s visible only to himself, but that doesn’t prevent the insipid feeling it brings. Melancholy sits there like ringing in his ears that won’t stop, or an itch upon thin skin, or a pebble in his shoe that he just can’t shake out for some reason. It’s unfortunately both prominent and (pretty much) permanent, a lethal combination.   
  
He sighs, steadying himself. He shoots Ryan a fond look. “Yeah … Remind me why we ignore each other so often, again?” he asks.   
  
Ryan chuckles, “I have no idea.” His face holds an expression filled with regret and something else Pete can’t quite identify. “I … I suppose it’s just how we work. Don’t wanna be too co-dependent, and all that, I guess …” Ryan seems unsure of the words he’s saying, and Pete’s certain that there is a lack of meaning behind them.   
  
Nevertheless, he goes along with it. “Yeah, yeah.”   
  
There’s a silence shared between them — an uncomfortable one at that — and Pete stubs out his abandoned cigarette. He stands up from where he’s sitting on the tarmac, brushes his jeans off lazily, and holds his hand out to Ryan, a shit-eating grin on his face.   
  
“What?” Ryan says, standing, too. “What are we doing? I’m lost.”   
  
“We,” he pauses for effect, “are going to go be kids again.”   
  
“I’m … not following.”   
  
Pete’s eyes roll, despite knowing full well that Ryan wouldn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “We raid the drama club’s closet and play dress-up, duh.”   
  
“Pete, you're forgetting that we’re not six year old girls.”   
  
“Ah, but we can be, dearest Ryan. Just follow me and you’ll see.”   
  
Ryan makes a doubtful face, “You’re not exactly the easiest person to trust, Pete, you know that, right?” Pete speeds down the corridors quickly, and Ryan has to jog to keep up.   
  
Pete scoffs in mock offence, raising a hand to his mouth like he’s shocked. “Excuse you, I’m the most trustworthy person in the world. I’m like a … like … the official knight of trustworthiness.”

“You aren’t, but technically, with all these costumes,” he pauses to gesture around the room they’d finally reached, “you could be.”  
  
Inevitably, Pete grabs the costume and puts it on at an alarmingly quick rate for someone that lazy. Ryan sits on the sidelines the whole time, groaning at him, and eventually succumbs to pulling his phone out and texting an old mate. He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t quite realise when Pete leaves the room.   
  
Pete, who has little to no idea of what he’s doing (not that that’s any different from any other aspect of his life, anyway), skids down the corridor in search of whatever, perhaps someone to save, someone to prove just how fucking knightly he really is (spoiler: not very).   
  
And by some kind of miraculous force of nature, one he thanks dearly, he does. Find someone, that is. It’s quite possibly the weirdest coincidence Pete’s ever found himself looped into — and that’s saying something: Pete has gotten himself into a lot of shit before — and maybe that’s not necessarily a good or bad thing right now, but it could be.   
  
Pete could end up in a lot of shit, or by chance, this could be a serendipity; just the same as it could have no effect whatsoever. But as a sense of impulse washes over him, controls him, he says, “Hey, leave him alone,” and the deed is done — there’s no going back.   
  
The taller guy, the one who threatened the other guy, backs off slightly and gazes over Pete, taking in his frame and his impulsive confidence. His eyes roll, and his tone is monotonous when he speaks. “Do you really expect me to listen to a five foot four—” he starts, but Pete cuts him off.   
  
“Dude, I'm literally five eight,” he corrects, though it’s a bitter lie, and he knows perfectly well it’s not even remotely believable. He can see the other guy — Mikey, he thinks, he vaguely recognises him because of his brother — stifle a scoff or an eye-roll, or even an “are you fucking sure, mate”, but doesn’t speak up about it.   
  
But, alas, the tall guy ignores him. “Five foot four guy with an outdated emo haircut and a knight costume on?” he says, and Pete can’t even bring himself to be offended by this, despite knowing that he really should — at least somewhat. He knows there’s too much truth to attempt denying it again, so he doesn’t.   
  
Instead, he quips, “That was the plan,” because it’s true. Apparently, Pete has a thing for that now.   
  
“Well, you were wrong.”   
  
Mikey seems impatient at this point, Pete notes. He speaks firmly and bitterly, and it seems strange coming from a nerd he’d presume to have no backbone. “Thank you, Captain fucking Obvious. Can we end this now? I have a class to get to.” Ah, a class. Now that sounds more … expected.   
  
Mikey, Pete has decided already, seems pretty cool. He sort of has this aura about him that says “take no shit from others”, which is odd, but intriguing. As for looks, he’s not bad on the eye, and he seems like the sort of person Ryan would approve of. In fact, if he can bite back the swearwords, his mum would probably like him, too.   
  
But he’s getting ahead of himself, now.   
  
Pete feels sort of bad for holding Mikey back, so he feels his face flush as he apologises, “Sorry, yes. I call truce.”   
  
And that’s that — the tall guy (who he is still yet to know the name of) leaves along with his minion of a friend, and Mikey sits down on the floor.   
  
He hears Mikey sigh, and that’s that, isn’t it? It's all over and done: he stood up for this guy he hardly knows, he left Ryan behind in the drama closet, he played dress up, he took a few risks here and there. There’s nothing to regret, to resent, but there’s nothing to smile over, either.   
  
There’s no anomaly, and that’s that.   
  
Except, he lets himself speak up again, asks Mikey a few things, receives a formal introduction. He cracks a smile and walks away with a bitter taste on his tongue as he realises that Mikey didn’t even need saving — he looked a lot like he could handle it himself, really — and once again, something he'd done was completely pointless.   
  
And it seems stupid, because he’s in a fucking knight costume and he shouldn’t be taking himself seriously, but he’s just so trivial.   
  
At this point in his High School career, he's pretty much just accepted that he’s not going to get anywhere. He’ll get D grades, maybe a C here and there if he’s lucky, and go leech off Ryan or something, and just live his life in a minimalist fashion, not achieving anything.   
  
So if he’s not doing anything, why try with schoolwork? What’s the harm in skipping a period every so often to go kill his lungs?   
  
Pete’s trivial, and nothing he does is an anomaly, and that’s that.


	3. Close (Mikey)

Mikey is all kinds of reserved, but when it comes to Gerard, he’s an open book. Perhaps it’s their perpetual closeness, or perhaps it’s the silly threats Gerard makes (“I’ll literally egg you, Mikes. I’ll storm right into your pigsty of a bedroom and throw eggs at you,” he had once said, voice adamant, his eyes narrowing when Mikey had stifled a laugh at how ridiculous the situation was) whenever Mikey dismisses a topic with a mumbled “nevermind” and a light shrug; likely both.  
  
Generally, Mikey lies a lot. He’s not even particularly ashamed of this anymore, which is probably a bad thing, as there should be even a modicum of guilt shedded within him, but there isn’t, and there’s nothing he can do about it. It’s definitely because lying has just became such a natural thing to him, that he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it sometimes. Even if it’s just a little thing such as “yeah, I’m about to do my homework” when he’s fully prepared to nap for three consecutive hours, or if it’s a bit larger, such as “I’m doing fine, nothing’s bothering me” paired with a sugary smile and a quick hug, it’s a bad habit he needs to quit.

But just because he’s not ashamed, doesn’t mean he _likes_ that part of him — he doesn’t, not one bit.

There’s a lot of reasons why Mikey Way is quiet. One of them being that sometimes all he feels that ever comes out of his mouth are lies. As much as he likes hiding behind the defence of a tiny, white lie, he can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling off his shoulder if that was all someone knew him to be: someone different to who he really is — a figure based on constant fibs that he’s created because he’s in some sort of bad mood.

Lately, however, he’s been in a bad mood a lot of the time; Gerard’s starting to notice, and, well, it’s not exactly as if he can lie his way out of Gerard’s brotherly knowledge — his _sixth sense_ , as Gerard is persistent on calling it. (Mikey refuses to cooperate, on the grounds that that movie was way too good to use it in the context of Gerard being a twat.)

Mikey sighs, runs a pasty hand through his knotted hair. Bad moods suck, he thinks. It’s a given, though, isn’t it: nobody exactly enjoys bad moods, do they?

There’s no single reason why he’s always so _mopey_. The first thing that comes to mind is pressure, which is feasible. He’s never been a fan of his parents, much less the expectations they place upon his fragile state, even much less the initial reason _why_ in the first place.

 

_He’s fifteen, maybe sixteen. Mikey leans against the wall, silent and restless, his breathing controlled. He hears voices — his mother, his father — talking in the kitchen, hushed, as if their conversation was a secret worth locking up in a box._

_“… Donna, somebody has to be successful here. Gerard’s clearly blown that with his stupid art school thing; he can’t_ possibly _believe he’s actually making a living for himself, can he? It’s_ art _— a hobby, not some uni shitshow to embarrass us. Mikey has potential, he can do this. He works hard, studies relentlessly.” Mikey gulps at the mention of his name, his heart sinks at the way they talk about Gerard._

_His mother sighs. “I suppose so, dear.” Mikey feels sick._

 

He told his brother afterwards, of course. The guilt crushed him, even only having kept it to himself for a matter of hours — and that was merely because Gerard was busy, so not out of choice.

They had had a long talk. Mikey wanted to opt out (“I’m not doing this, Gee. You aren’t the family shitshow — you inspire me, and I love you,” he recalls saying. Gerard had smiled weakly afterwards, and it was filled with fondness and regret and something else Mikey couldn’t quite decode) and was incessant upon shunning his parents for speaking about _their own son_ that way.

Gerard hadn’t let him. “They’re sort of right, you know. You are smart and you _can_ do this. But don’t do it for them, OK? Do it for _me—_ or, better yet, do it for _you_ ,” he had insisted. Mikey agreed reluctantly, but there was a lot of head-shaking and eye-rolling and groaning.

So he did: he kept studying, he paid deep attention to the rules, he played it safe. Even when it becomes tedious and the pressure becomes too much, he’s carried on. All for his brother, his stupidly amazing brother, but not at all for himself.

Gerard had told him, “If you can’t take it, stop, Mikes. I mean it — I know you’re stubborn as fuck, but please. Your happiness is worth more than approval.” Mikey hadn’t believed it, but nodded regardless. He still doesn’t today.

Gerard’s art career still hasn’t exactly taken off yet. He runs a small comic book store a few blocks away at which he sometimes sells some of his own work, which although is nice, it doesn’t have the seal of approval from mother and father dearest. Mikey sometimes even helps out at the store when he’s feeling particularly bad — it’s a small, convenient way of saying a subtle “fuck you” to his school and his parents. One of his good friends, Frank, has a job there — in fact, that’s how they met.

Mikey isn’t really one for friends; if you search “anti-social” up in the dictionary, there’s bound to be an attached image of Mikey printed there. He doesn’t like talking, he doesn’t like opening up, but Frank is different. Frank never pushes him to say anything he’s uncomfortable with, which is nice. They hardly ever talk about their personal lives and really hardly know anything major about each other — obscure rock albums are more on their discussion board, and that’s more than OK with Mikey.

The fact that he’s close with Gerard is good, too, because he trusts Gerard, and if he’s on good terms with his brother then he’s clearly a decent human being. Although, he’s not always a good judge of character. Gerard had once met and dated the wonder that is Bert McCracken — the human epitome of garbage. Shitty person, shitty morals, but Gerard had been too blinded by love to realise. There had been a lot of arguing and a few broken bones and many tubs of ice cream back in that time, but that’s all a matter of the past, and they never talk about it.

Aside from the store, Gerard still lives at home, despite now being freshly twenty-one. His room, converted from the old basement, reeks of dried paint and alcohol and something salty Mikey is vaguely suspicious of but doesn’t want to ask about. It’s kind of large, but it seems small because it’s filled up with useless junk that he’s too lazy to clean. Seriously, he’s not sure why Gerard refers to his room as a “pigsty” when Gerard practically lives inside of a trash can.

Oddly enough, Gerard’s room feels more homey than his own room does; God knows he’s probably spent more nights sleeping on the small couch he has down there rather than his own bed, as of recently. Mikey’s room is small and blue, cluttered with pieces of scrap paper on the floor, along with some discarded pairs of pyjamas here and there. There are no posters or paintings adorning the walls, and although it’s plain and boring, Mikey sort of likes it that way. It’s like me, he thinks. Plain.

The store is an escape. It’s a world away from all the “nerd” comments he gets and the sarcastic comments he shoots back in some sort of defence mechanism against the fact that Mikey actually _cares_ , perhaps too much at that. In an ideal world, Mikey will leave school and skip uni and go straight to work in the store by the side of his brother and his good friend, but that can’t happen, and he knows that all too well.

He doesn’t let himself fall victim to a string of false hope. He’s going to live the _right_ way: not the one he wants.

He allows himself to sigh once more as he remembers today’s encounter with Gabe and Pete, and a surge of bitterness overcomes him as he thinks about how they’re likely living how they want to. Pete seems … he seems like the kind of boy who doesn’t know the definition of a rule. He had reeked of smoke and was obviously skipping, and as much as Mikey dislikes the idea of him murdering his lungs, he admires Pete for that.

Pete is everything Mikey wants to be and more. He’s sort of badass even though he’s short, and never lets anyone get away easily when they talk shit. He wears eyeliner, he skips class frequently, he does things for himself. Mikey isn’t and will never be like that.

Mikey had gotten the shit he expected from his parents for accidentally skipping, and it was possibly even worse than he had imagined it to be. They were all passive-aggressive raised voices and finger waggling, threats hidden behind careful phrasing and loose metaphors. Mikey had felt intimidated beyond belief. Unsurprisingly, he had taken solitude in Gerard’s room, even though he was out working — as much as he likes Frank, he wasn’t in the mood for socialising at the time.

Quietness has always been something he’s felt at ease with. It’s peaceful, and he can lay down and forget the world, letting his mind drift away. He’s not under any sort of pressure, and he doesn’t have to tell anyone anything.

Mikey isn’t good with words. He lies and he makes biting, sarcastic comments and sometimes he stutters so much he feels like he’s speaking an entirely different language. He doesn’t like talking, and perhaps that’s something he should work on, but he can’t bring himself to pay mind to it.

But, oddly enough, it — rebelling, that is — had felt good; Mikey sort of wants to do it again.

(He makes a mental note to himself to enlist the help of Pete on that one. Perhaps asking him is a bit of a long-shot, but _whatever_ , right?

It’s going to feel weird. Pete knows him as this kid who can stand up for himself whenever he wants, but also a concerned student. It’s giving him a headache, but either way, both are perceptions that are not all entirely true. Just to an extent.)


	4. Hotel (Ryan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember how ryan had little to no relevance in ltf? oh, man.

“George,” she’d grumble, like talking to her own son was a chore.

“George,” she’d bite, like his existence was an inconvenience.

“George,” she’d yell, like his name was venom on her lips.

“Ryan,” he’d correct her, the name he had been given to honour his very much absent father burdening his mind like a fly he couldn’t swat away, desperate to get rid of. He isn’t George, he isn’t to be taken for granted. He’s more than a throwaway service to throw insults at, a hotel of a person only used when in dire need.

Sure, he might enjoy smoking weed every other day as some sort of coping mechanism to let the world he’s grown to hate fade into a haze around him, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a person — a living, breathing organism of flesh and blood and a functioning mind that allows him to form opinions and habits — with value and importance. He’s a person, not a robot trained to cater to his uptight mother’s every need.

Sometimes, _most_ times, Ryan doubts his significance in anyone’s life. He’s a triviality among people who shine like stars, who stand out in the crowd and make a difference in the grand scheme of things.

It’s a complete and utter cliché, if he thinks about it: you know, the whole ‘diamond in-the rough is overshadowed by popular and eccentric best friend’ idea. He loves Pete more than words can describe, honest. In the most platonic way possible, Pete is his soulmate, the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Ryan’s just worried that Pete doesn’t see him in the same way.

It’s almost as if he’s the sidekick to Pete’s superhero in a bad action-comedy extravaganza — no one usually pays attention to the sidekick, do they? Yeah, that’s sort of how he feels.

In despite of Pete’s occasional reassurance that their friendship is a _forever thing_ , Ryan still remains dubious of his loyalty. After all, they do have their gaps every so often — their tendencies to break off and be alone for varying periods of time before crawling helplessly back to each other for another couple of months — so surely Ryan can’t be that hard to let go of, no?

Simultaneously, he can’t help but shake the feeling that he’s worrying pointlessly because it’s all _his_ fault anyway. If he feels like he’s being treated like a human hotel, a come-and-go service of desperation, why doesn’t he ever speak up about it? He could change the way Pete treats him in five minutes flat just by calling him out, and yet he chooses to remain quiet. He questions himself, but doesn’t do anything about it.

He used to think it was a ‘we accept the treatment we think we deserve’ thing, but that’s not right, is it? Ryan knows he deserves and is worthy of more than he gets. So what is it? Why doesn’t he speak up? It could be a deep internal need to impress/help people, or it could be his complete and utter laziness. Perhaps he just dislikes confrontation. He hasn’t really evaluated it properly.

So when Ryan feels the gentle buzz of his phone inside the pocket of his hoodie in a music theory lesson with Miss Jackson (who strangely reminds him of some sort of boisterous ape), he doesn’t doubt that it’s Pete, and he doesn’t doubt that whatever it is, he’ll agree.

[from: Pete — 11:02]  
You feel like skipping? I’m behind the shed.

Ryan stifles an eye-roll.

[to: Pete — 11:03]  
Yeah, be there in a few minutes.

After a hardly believable toilet excuse and a prompt exit from the odd-smelling classroom, Ryan walks down the long, windy corridor with a sudden desire to do something self-destructive.

He takes his phone out again to briefly check the time, which rather stupidly leads him to walk straight into someone. He backs away quickly, feeling a vague sense of guilt. “Sorry,” he says (or rather mumbles), helping the tall boy to pick up the contents of the folder he dropped.

The guy adjusts his glasses and stands up again. “Hey, it’s OK. Don’t worry about it.” There’s an awkward silence, a pause filled with hesitance, and then he speaks up again. “Hey, don’t you know Pete? I was sort of planning on talking to him. Do you know where I can find him?” Oh, there it is again. Right. Because nobody’s interested in what _he_ has to offer.

Ryan shrugs, makes a vague hand gesture. “I… don’t know, as of right now.” A blatant lie. “I think he’ll be in the library at lunch, though.” The guy looks taken aback, because why would _Pete_ be at the _library_? “He has a… a project. Yeah, he needs to work on it, like, as soon as possible.” Karma will surely come back to bite him in the ass for this.

Ryan knows it’s sort of rude to deceive the poor guy when he likely means well, but he can’t help it. In this moment, he just wants Pete to himself for a while, however selfish it may be. He’ll take what he can get of Pete, because he loves him, and because he just wants to fucking clear his head, and God knows three’s a crowd.

“Right…” says the guy, who doesn’t seem all that convinced, but still has a sort of hopeful glint in his eyes.

“I’ll text him, if you want?” he offers, knowing full well he probably won’t.

“Yeah, sure, if you don’t mind. I’m Mikey, by the way.” Isn’t that the guy Pete told him about that he _literally_ was the knight in shining armour of? Jesus. Small world.

“Ryan,” he replies. Because it _is_ Ryan, and his mother can’t tell him any differently. He holds his hand out firmly but reluctantly, forcing a (what he hopes is an) amiable smile when Mikey shakes it.

“I’ll see you around, Ryan,” Mikey says, and they head their separate ways: Ryan off to the infamous shed, and Mikey off to… the library? Back to class? Something else nerdy?

He walks quickly, making up for lost time talking to Mikey, slumping down against the wall with a heavy sigh as soon as he reaches the shed, reaching into his bag to find his lighter without even a greeting uttered to the leather-clad teenager sat diagonally from him. Pete throws him his box of cigarettes, and Ryan shoots him a grateful look.

“Hello to you, too,” Pete says, clearly amused with Ryan’s attitude.

Ryan makes a point of replying extra snappily to continue the act, eyes narrowing as he fumbles with the packet. “Hi, Pete.”

“Thanks for skipping with me,” Pete comments, taking a drag of his own cigarette. “It’s appreciated.”

Ryan smiles. “No problem, really. Anything to get out of class with Miss fucking Jackson.”

Pete snorts, rolling his eyes fondly. “I thought you liked that lesson,” he states.

“Yeah, only because she’s hot,” Ryan explains, “but she’s fucking annoying. For someone who willingly listens to Mozart in her spare time, she’s awfully over-excited, and dare I say pretentious.”

“Fair enough.”

They don’t talk for a good ten minutes after that. Ryan sits quietly, taking in the peacefulness of the shed. It’s sort of nice in his own little world of solitude and safety, away from what causes him harm.

Pete may be sat merely a metre away from him, but for a moment, he forgets. He forgets the problems driving their friendship and he forgets the act he’s built up for himself.

The thought of returning home to more shouting and hard, cold stares evaporates away blissfully so he’s in a sort of mental paradise, where he’s not the sidekick, not the superhero, not even the love interest — he’s just Ryan, and definitely not George. He’s his own person free from all the mistakes he’s made, and nobody judges him.

Somehow, even in complete silence, clearing his head is much nicer with Pete there with him, despite what Pete has unknowingly put him through. Sure, Ryan likes being alone, but that doesn’t mean he likes being _lonely_ , per se. After the dismissal of his mother and the outright disappearance of his father, he’s been somewhat reluctant to want to spend long periods of time without talking properly to anyone. Even during the brief absences of his friendship with Pete, he latches pathetically onto a small group of friends he has in his music class, whom he bonded with over the mocking of Miss Jackson.

So perhaps that’s why he never speaks up to Pete — he’s afraid that he won’t take it well, and he’ll be left alone again.

Ryan sighs. “The bell’s about to go. We should back head up.” He has a mini mental conflict for a moment, then decides he’ll be a good person for once. “You should… go to the library,” he says. Pete raises an eyebrow inquisitively, as if to ask him what the fuck he’s on about. “I told your pal Mikey you’d be there. He wants to talk to you,” he continues.

“Thanks,” Pete says, “though I wouldn’t really say he’s my ‘pal’.”

“Whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'm sorry this took so long! come yell at me on [tumblr](http://sighmemes.tumblr.com/)


	5. Deal (Pete)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few warnings before we start:  
> \- vaguely descriptive mention of a suicide attempt  
> \- mention of ryan and mikey's shit parents  
> \- and it's not outright stated ~~(until later)~~ but pete prob has adhd  
>  aside from that, everything's ok!

Pete is sure of a lot of things in the world, one of which being that he’s completely and utterly _un_ sure of why Mikey wants to talk to him, after only having met each other once, under the strangest circumstances. He’d also like to know why Ryan decided to tell Mikey that he’d be in the _library_ of all places, as he’s sure that Mikey is aware of how much he _goddamn hates_ the library, and Ryan knows it too. God, Ryan knows most things about him, actually. He wouldn’t say _everything_ , though. There are some things he _can’t_ share.

(But Ryan _does_ know about the dreadful night that occurred two years ago: the crimson liquid on his skin, the sink, the tiled floor; the jammed door that wouldn’t open with each pull, though it hadn’t been locked; the silent tears, the tears with choked shouts. He knows about the recovery, how hard he’d found — _finds_ — it to talk about how he felt. He knows how to tell if Pete is having another ‘bad day’, to put it nicely, and he knows to give him the space he needs if so. There are a lot of things Ryan Ross knows about Pete Wentz, but why he’s willing to meet Mikey is not one.)

Regardless, he heads toward the library with an open mind and a slight cough. The library is, strangely enough, not very quiet. It’s not overly crowded — just slightly busy — but it’s quite loud and filled with conversation. There are desks and bookshelves and computers, all kept within walls painted a rather ugly shade of green-brown, sort of like the colour you’d find on a camouflage clothing item. Pete hates it.

Pete can’t be intrigued by Mikey, not at this point. Not when he hardly knows anything about the taller boy. There is a reason, however, why he agrees to talk to him: it’s simply curiosity, for both Mikey and himself. Aside from wanting to know why Mikey is adamant, he’s curious about what this will mean for  _him_. Pete doesn’t work well with friendship — sure, he’s got Ryan, but even that isn’t perfect — but he wants to know if he’ll stop guarding himself long enough to actually form one with Mikey, though it _is_ only the early stages of their acquaintanceship.

Pete is a firm believer in the fact that every stranger has a story to tell. Some re good, some are bad. Perhaps their stories aren’t even their own, but rather ones they hold close to their hearts instead. He hasn’t had enough casual conversations with Mikey yet to know if he wants to hear his, but right now, opening the horridly creaky door to the library, he’s willing to take that chance.

And that, for someone as unusually closed off as Pete, is sort of a big deal.

See, with the amount of bad shit he does, the way he parades down the corridor wearing his leather jacket as his armour, how he talks so openly and seemingly easily to everyone, you’d think he’s the type of person to wear his heart on his sleeve. He is not. His heart, to anyone but Ryan (and that strange but nice therapist he’d had a year ago), is kept in a chest. With a lock and a discarded key. Thrown into the Mariana Trench. His secrets are secure and that’s the way he likes it.

Sure, it’s not exactly the best way to live, but he pays no mind to that. Pete always says so much, yet gives away so little. He talks because if he stays silent, it somehow says _everything_. His expressions are the words he’s been too scared to say. His body language is the fear he’s been too anxious to show.

He scans the room in a quick few seconds, his eyes darting from person to person, but it’s Mikey who actually spots him first. Pete gives him a small smile — half hesitant yet also welcomed — and walks over to where he’s sat: alone at a small desk to seat two, with its surface covered in books and notes and his bag set aside on the floor by one of its legs. Pete sits down at the seat next to him. He doesn’t think about how this could potentially affect his reputation, because that would be selfish.

Instead, he rotates his chair so it’s diagonally facing Mikey’s direction instead of being straight ahead, and says, “Hey.” It’s a simple sentence, only a mere word instead of a proper greeting, but it makes him feel jittery and strange. Like he’s already said too much, even though the case is quite clearly the opposite.

Mikey greets back him back, a simple, “Hey, yourself.” He pushes his schoolwork aside so it’s only talking up his half of the desk, then adjusts his glasses on his face.

Pete coughs quietly and awkwardly, determined not to go into silence. “So, let’s get straight to the point: why’d you want to meet me? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not exactly unwelcomed — I’m just… curious. It was pretty sudden. I thought the other day’d be just a one-off,” he rambles.

“Right… uh, that,” he starts, scratching his head. “I know it didn’t seem like it, but I’m pretty much the opposite of who you saw in that argument. That’s the side of me I never let out. I don’t argue, I don’t skip. I’m awkward and nerdy and… and I don’t have any friends… at this school. I’m not… like you. You’re all of that and more — you act out like it’s nothing and…” Mikey trails off.

Oddly enough, this doesn’t come as a surprise to Pete. After all, he did see the worried side of him after Gabe had left. Pete prompts him, “And? I’m not following.”

“And I’m sick of it. Sick of _me_. I don’t know. I just— I’m not good with words, but I’ll say this: I know it’s a lot to ask you, because we’ve only just met, and I’m not the kind of person you usually hang around with. But I need help. There’s more backstory to it that’s a long, sort of shitty tale, but let’s just say that for now, my parents don’t want what I want, but I have to be who they want. I don’t… know how to _not_ just live for their sakes. I’m my own person, but at the same time, I’m just not,” Mikey confesses.

Pete doesn’t have an immediate reaction to that. It’s just…  _ oh _ . That sucks, he supposes. Pete doesn’t know what it’s like to have overpowering parents: his are quite nice and supportive, though perhaps they worry too much given the circumstances. Aside from that, they’re quite liberal — especially his father, who pretty much lets him do whatever he likes. He knows Ryan’s mother is nowhere near winning the Parent of the Year award, as she’s an emotionally abusive shithead who treats Ryan like he’s dirt under her precious stilettos, throwing insults like a bully would throw punches.

So Pete can’t empathise, per se, but he _does_ feel rather sorry for Mikey, and he has a feeling that the longer version of his explanation is going to be an emotional rollercoaster. He’d look like an absolute dick, he thinks, if he was to say no to Mikey at this point. Pete sighs, blinks harshly a few times to get back into focus. “Yeah, sure, OK,” he agrees, “why not?”

Mikey’s face lights up, then it dulls slightly. “Is there a catch to it?” he asks.

Well, that’s something he hadn’t considered before initially answering.  _ Is  _ there?

Him and Mikey are sort of opposites, he thinks, in a sense that they both want very different things. Although Pete is content with the fact that he acts out and enjoys the thrill of misbehaving, he can’t shake away the sinking feeling he has in his chest each time his teachers hand him back a bad grade on a test he’d done, because he hadn’t bothered trying, or he didn’t know the content because he’d skipped. His exams were coming up in five or so months, and he doesn’t want that feeling then. He wants good grades. Bs and As. He wants a job, a house, a family.

But sometimes, on bad days, he can’t concentrate long enough to even be able to study properly. He’ll lose his train of thought and he’ll get distracted by little, irrelevant things. He’s awfully impulsive and he hates the quiet — silence is what allows his thoughts to go south — and hates following any rules. He’s not cut out for studying, and though he doesn’t know why, he thinks that perhaps Mikey could help him. After all, Mikey’s a smart guy. He works hard, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to a lot of the time.

It takes a lot to say it, but he forces it out of himself. “Yeah, actually, if you don’t mind. I’m the opposite. I don’t know how to be good at school. I’m a hopeless case of Es and Ds and I skip too much and I don’t study. I have too many friends but I don’t know how to cut them off, and the closest one I have is… we’re distant half the time, and I feel so fucking guilty about it. I just” — he cuts himself off briefly to take a breath — “need some help with that, I guess. I don’t wanna be a failure anymore.”

He shifts in his seat, then tries to not be overly affected by how much he’d actually just given away. Mikey smiles sadly at him, giving him a sympathetic look.

Mikey suggests, “Perhaps we can turn this into a pact. You help me live for myself and I’ll help you with your schoolwork. Sound like a deal?” He extends his hand towards Pete.

Pete nods, shaking it. “It’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've came to a conclusion that i'm really bad at updating this, which is weird, because it's fun to write. i'm actually getting so into it, and the characters are all like my babies.
> 
> ~~shame nobody's reading it.~~


	6. Tangible (Mikey)

They’d exchanged numbers at the end of lunch, all anxious fingers upon the _New Contact_ button, awkward goodbyes and hesitant waves. Mikey doesn’t particularly want to be the one to text first — no matter how intriguing Pete may be — due to his awkwardness and general inexperience in the friend department. Mikey functions independently, alone but not lonely, a wolf without a pack. He loves his brother, and as close as they are, Mikey lives his life outside home by himself; besides, they’re similar enough to practically be the same person anyway, mind you.

They hold their mannerisms in the same way: closed and quiet, sinking into the background, never into the crowd majority. It’s sort of ironic Gerard owns a comic store, as he’s never really been one for social situations, always ending up in remarkably awkward situations where he has to call Frank — who although has an attitude that screams ‘ _fuck you_ ’ is generally decent with helping people out — to take one for the team. Their differences lie within the little things. The way Mikey is more organised, tidying away both of their messes. How Gerard mostly goes to sleep at 4am while Mikey can’t function without at least 8 hours and a gallon of coffee. While Gerard procrastinates, Mikey is efficient. Gerard says the things he knows Mikey won’t.

But possibly the most similar thing about them is the way they love. They’d do anything for each other: burn cities to the ground, start conflict upon conflict, ruin lives. Even their own. It’s strong, deep and running through their blood, but it’s calm: a gentle tide hitting the beach, warm and welcoming and _safe_. They may live in a house, but their home is each other. A default place to go to during times of trouble. “He dumped me.” “The pressure is too much.” “I drank again.” No judgement, no harm. Just the burn of a mild disappointment and the reassurance of a soft nod and a hug.

Mikey remembers the nights they’d spend together one or two years ago: up at 2am talking about anything and everything. They were concerned glances and reassurance and comfort. They were plotless films and awful jokes and play-fighting. They were two brothers against the world, invincible in battle. Come 3am, memories strike and eyes are pried open. Quiet, but not silent. A time for the more dark pressures of their world. Falling asleep by each other’s side, as if in protection. Satisfied, but not peaceful.

He wishes he had Gerard to guide him through the deal with Pete, but this is something he has to do alone. Mikey has to be the one to reach out in order to progress — that’s the whole point. He has to learn to do things for himself. And technically he has Pete to help him, but there’s got to be someone to call him out when he fucks something up, right? They’ll learn from each other, balance their personalities like they’re chemistry equations. Except they aren’t. They’re natural and human and real; sometimes that scares Mikey, because he knows it’s not as simple as science.

Mikey has known school, known maths and science and all subjects of the likes, for an awfully long period of times. He works logically and quickly, figuring things out at rapid speed. He practices and revises so he gets better and he ends up with good grades. But Mikey doesn’t know people. _Himself_ , namely. He wakes up every morning and isn’t sure how he functions properly in his own body. He walks around thinking, ‘ _it’s too much, it’s too much — I feel like I’m suffocating_ ’ on a near-daily basis, wondering why he’s still here if he’s so useless in any other area but STEM.

Sometimes Mikey wishes he could tear himself apart entirely and rebuild himself into a better person from the mess of flesh and bones. He wishes he could plug himself into a computer and program himself a new personality, one where he isn’t so _trapped_ and uncomfortable and scared. Somehow, however, he thinks that wishing on a star won’t do anything in his favour. (Then again, it never has.)

Mikey is instantly brought out of his internal sulk when his phone buzzes, lighting up and showing a text. He immediately thinks of Pete and his heart skips a beat in anticipation, but it’s just from Frank.

[from: Frank — 19:23]  
Can you take my shift after school tomorrow? Family business.

He sighs, feels his stomach sink in disappointment.

[to: Frank — 19:24]  
Sure, no problem.

And that’s when he gets an idea.

He’ll be spending a good few weeks, months, getting to know Pete, right? Mikey is busy, constantly revising for tests and working at the comic store. So unless he starts inviting Pete, they’ll hardly have any time together otherwise. He’s almost entirely certain Pete’s music taste is as obscure as his, so he’ll fit right in with Frank, and even if it turns out Pete doesn’t like comics, Mikey’s going to personally _make_ him. Like a baby being force-fed its vegetables.

Thing is, if you get to know the comic book store, you get to know a large chunk of Mikey at the same time. It’s an extremely important part of his life. He schedules his life around his time there: when he’s free, he’ll go entertain Gerard while he’s working.

[to: Pete — 19:27]  
Meet me at the gates after school. There’s somewhere I wanna show you.

[from: Pete — 19:29]  
Okay… You’re not kidnapping me, are you, Mikes? (Also, I’m totally gonna show you the joys of properly skipping tomorrow. I hope you’re ready. And I hope that’s okay with you, ‘cause that kind of defeats the point otherwise.)

[to: Pete — 19:30]  
No, I’m not, and don’t call me that. And yeah, skipping is fine, I guess. S’a good way to ease into it.

If he’s being honest, he’s more than a little bit nervous for this. It’ll technically be the second time cutting class in the span of less than a week, and Mikey is half certain that this kind of disobedience gets a nice chunk of space on his permanent record. (Not to mention the future shit that’s much worse that he’s yet to do as of now.) Is this really the kind of person Gee would want him to be? His mother, father? God, he’ll be letting so many people down. He wonders, is it too late to back out? Call it quits?

But! But. But—

It _is_ worth it. It’s worth finding himself, because he wants to know. He has to give Pete a chance, because it’s only fair. Perhaps he’ll find peace. Grow confidence. Tell his parents to fuck off. Stumble into a new interest. Make new friends. It’s worth the risk — the quest that might not work — because he owes it to himself, after all these years of being cooped up inside the box, whereas the grass appears greener outside.

His parents’ wishes have always been a concept within his reach, something easy enough to bite down on and work with. It’s always been a safe option for Mikey — ordinary and stable — that he is supposedly ‘ _destined_ ’ (a rather cliche word choice, if you ask him) to follow. But maybe his own wishes are tangible, just within grabbing distance. He’s always considered it as nothing more than a silly dream: all inside his head, too far to touch. Reevaluating his situation, he’s having second thoughts with that theory. He can make them a reality.

He just has to trust Pete, but more importantly: _himself_.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i planned this to be 1.6k at the least but lost motivation and stopped at ~1.3k. the next one will be longer, promise. (minus the length, though, i'm actually pretty happy with how this chapter turned out.)
> 
> in other related news, i'm still bad at updating this, but what can ya do, eh?


End file.
